I have 111 students this term. A light load, for me. Right now, I have 57 papers and essay to grade. And a few dozen discussions to read through (hybrid classes. YAY!). I’m in my office, I know I have to get a lot of work done this week—I have another 18 essays coming in tomorrow, and another 36 on Thursday—to keep up, but there’s one small problem…
I’m writing. Well, yes, right now I am writing this post, but what I’m actually talking about is something much more inconvenient:
Where was this drive and inspiration all summer when I had more time to write? I don’t have time to write for myself. I have the works of First-Year Writing students to get through. This is not a good time for muses.
Oh, a side note, anyone who uses muses as a romantic trait, or calls a loved one a muse, is full of shit. Muses are not romantic. They’ll make you feel great and then beat the crap out of you, and that’s their job.
They also make you obsess over your work at the worst possible time. So, by Tuesday next week, I need to have 111 essays graded. And I can’t get this story out of my head, no matter how much I write it. Great. This is going to be an awesome week.